Archives: Short Stories

She went from a size 6 to a size 9 in less than a year because she eats while sleep-walking. It’s crazy to think that while she’s sleeping, she raids the fridge like some kind of savage barbarian.

In this country obesity isn’t seen as something beyond your control. If you’re fat, society will see you as a degenerate that is too lazy to be fit. It’s as simple as that and anyone overweight for their height and weight will be fined $100 per kilogram every month until they lose weight.

She’s 5 kilos overweight and has had to pay $500 per month for the last several months. Her mom has helped her out with some of the payments but her mom is financially strapped herself.

If she gains one more kilogram, the government will ship her off to Kilo Killer Kamp – a brutal fitness boot camp which costs a bomb to go to.

If she can’t afford to pay the monthly obesity fine, she’ll be deported. If she gains another kilo and can’t afford to go to Kilo Killer Kamp, she’ll be deported!

She grabs her skipping rope from her closet and starts skipping. While she’s skipping, she knocks over a lamp. She chides herself for carelessly destroying her mom’s housewarming gift but continues skipping.

15 minutes later she’s ready to collapse but she’s determined to keep going. She must become a size 6 again.

Soon her roommate Archie comes home. As usual, he opens her bedroom door without knocking.

“Instead of skipping why not run to the grocery store and buy some food?” He says. “I’m starving and you ate all my spaghetti last night!”

“It’s too polluted outside!” She tosses the skipping rope aside.

“I don’t care. You ate all my food.” Archie says.

“It’s a medical condition okay! I can’t control it.”

“If you were the Big Bad Wolf, you would’ve not only eaten the pigs, but their houses as well!”

“Stop being mean.” She says. “Now listen, you have to help me. I need a favor.”

“Not again.” He groans.

“Please, I have a boyfriend now! He doesn’t say anything, but I know he’d be happier if I were slimmer!”

“Seriously? You have a boyfriend? He asked you out… in your condition?” Archie stares at her thighs.

“Yes, you asshole! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder!”

“Only a blind eye could find you beautiful.”

“Will you please stop being you and just help?”

“Fine. What do you want?” He asks.

Archie is definitely an asshole but sometimes he can be nice. Last month he paid her monthly obesity fine.

“A treadmill.” She replies.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s for a good cause. I’ll pay you back… one day.”

Archie narrows his eyebrows, “Why a treadmill? Why don’t you just keep skipping?”

“Skipping is hard on the knees!”

“Oh, I see. Did you knee pain start after you got a boyfriend?”

“Archie!” She glares.

“Okay, okay. Here.” He hands her his credit card.

“Thank you.”

“Wait, I have an idea about your sleep-eating.”

“What?

“Why not put a lock outside your door?” Archie suggests. “When you go to bed at night, I’ll lock it. Then you won’t be able to get out of your room. Call me when you wake up in the morning and I’ll unlock it.”

“Okay! Hope it works!”

She then decides to do some online research on the food she’s eaten in the past year, especially this new brand of bread called Breader. She reads a startling news article on a secret online forum that is only accessible with a VPN.

She learns that people eating Breader are also eating in their sleep. Breader is one of the few bread brands available in the country, ever since the government banned many other brands for being “unsustainable”. Breader’s market share is growing every month.

Does the government want a section of the population to gain weight knowing full well that Kilo Killer Kamps are unaffordable for most people? Does the government want an excuse to deport some of its own citizens?

The country is overpopulated so that would make sense. Most overweight people are deported because Kilo Killer Kamps are unaffordable… Kilo Killer Kamps are government-owned… Breader is also owned by the government… She smells the foul stink of conspiracy.

She throws her bread in the trash.

Two months later after running on the treadmill, she loses 10 kilos and drops to a size 5. She doesn’t sleep-eat anymore. In fact, she doesn’t even get up in her sleep. She looks and feels better.

Archie now finds her attractive. When he tried to make a move on her she told him that she’d rather go to Kilo Killer Kamp.

She starts applying for jobs in other countries because there’s no way she plans to stay here for the rest of her life. Hopefully her boyfriend will come with her.

His neighbor sent him leftover cake from last night’s party.

But he must lose weight this year. He must take drastic measures to avoid sugar.

He glares at the vile pink box, containing the fatal treat.

He opens the box. He unzips his pants. He pees on the pineapple cake.

He sipped his tea slowly. It was raining. He always drank tea when it rained. Not because he could see or even hear the pattering of the drops, he just loved the smell. Something about the way the mud smelled after that first rain made him crave a hot cup of tea.

The rain kept falling, he kept sipping.

All was well.

She sighed as she draped the last of the wet clothes over the furniture. The rain had come out of nowhere. The skies had been clear blue just minutes before, and turned dark and gloomy in a matter of moments, forcing her to rush out to the washing line to take down the laundry.

She turned to the open door, considering whether or not to close it, until she realised her husband was out on the porch, enjoying his ritual of drinking tea in the rain. She smiled.

Ever since the chemical explosion at his company had taken away both, his hearing and his eyesight, not much gave him peace. Seeing him enjoy something as small as a cup of tea in the rain made her happy.

Still, things could be worse. Their bad luck had turned not too long ago and things were looking up for them.
All was well.

They crept towards the hedges surrounding the house although they knew no one would be out in the rain. They wouldn’t be seen. The leader poked his neck over the hedge to see the man sipping tea on the porch and there, behind him- the front door was open. They were lucky so far, and they were about to be luckier still.

Ever since they’d read about the unfortunate couple whose luck had turned after they’d won the lottery, the temptation had been too much to resist. They were sure the couple wouldn’t know enough to stick the money in the bank- it had to be around the house somewhere. Not to mention the man of the house would pose no threat to them. Piece of cake.

They slipped easily past the man, into the house. He was completely oblivious to their presence. They grinned at one another as they entered through the door. Just the wife to deal with and then they’d be on their way.
All was well.

The first mistake she’d made was not telling them where it was hidden. They didn’t take her secrecy too well.
The second mistake, was attempting to fight back. Needless to say, it wasn’t a fair fight and she lost.

They left her limp body on the floor and made their way back to the front door. It was all her fault anyway, they’d reckoned. She should have just complied. Shouldn’t have tried to be a hero.

They slipped out of the front door, passing the man again. Satisfied to see it was raining harder than ever, they knew they’d be witnessed by no one as they made their getaway. They were right.

He was almost done with his first cup of tea when he decided he wanted another. He felt beside him to the cool surface of the side-table, ran his fingers over the top till he found the bell. He picked it up, feeling the cold weight of the metal hanging from his fingers and gave it a quick shake. He couldn’t hear it, of course, but he could feel the vibration it made.

He knew she’d hear it and come running out, gently patting him on the back to indicate she was there. He knew she’d ask him what he needed, even though he couldn’t see or hear the words from her lips.

He’d tell her he wanted another cup of tea and within minutes he’d have another steaming cup warming his hands while he smelled the rain.

He put the bell back down and waited, enjoying the sense of security he derived from the predictability of their routine.

All was well.

You can never be too careful if you’re a single father. My daughter’s beautiful, charming and 19-years-old. She’s old enough to date and she has good taste most of the time but her current boyfriend, Travis, is trash. He’s always getting into trouble.

They’re in the back of his car making out in front of my apartment building, I can see them through my binoculars from the 11th floor. He was supposed to drop her home 15 minutes ago but their goodbye kiss is taking forever.

I decide to go out there to speed things up.

I tap on the car window and they pull away from each other. Travis rolls down the window.

“It isn’t safe out here at night.” I say.

“Sorry dad.” My daughter replies. “I was just coming inside.”

“Sorry sir.” Travis says insincerely.

“Let me tell you a little story.” I begin. “When I was your age I was making out with a girl in my car in this neighbourhood at night. Just like you two. My girlfriend and I were about to rip each other’s clothes off when someone showed up with a gun. We had to give him all our money. You don’t want that to happen to you do you?”

“Did that really happen?” My daughter asks.

“Of course. Now go upstairs, I want to talk to Travis. Man to man.” I reply.

“Good luck.” She smiles at Travis.

My daughter leaves and it’s just me and Travis.

“I didn’t finish the whole story.” I say. “After my girlfriend and I gave our money to that guy, he left. But I followed him. And then at the right moment I hit him on the back of his head. I took back the money and took his gun too. I told him I’d use the gun on him if I ever saw him again.”

I pull a gun out of my jacket. Travis is horrified.

“I’ve never fired it and I hope you don’t give me a reason to use it.” I smile.

“Yes, sir.” Travis’s voice trembles. “I swear I won’t.”

Travis drives away.

That very night he breaks up with my daughter over text.

She panics when she sees the number on the weighing scale. She vows to never eat cake again.

Her husband wraps his arms around her, “More for me to love.”

She puts her hand in between his legs, “If only I could say the same.”

“No more.” The little boy’s mother says after he eats four cookies.

His mother puts the remaining cookies in a glass jar and stores it in a cupboard.

Later that night the boy waits for his mom to fall asleep. At midnight he sneaks into the kitchen and opens the cupboard.

He sees the jar but there are no cookies inside it. There’s a folded note inside the jar.

The boy retrieves the note which reads: “Go back to sleep. Love, mom.”

It’s been two years since I lost him. They say, time heals all wounds but would it ever heal the gaping hole in my heart? Would I ever feel whole again? I loved him with all I had. Loved them both. So much.

As I sit in the verandah of my ancestral home, where he breathed his last, I stare at the fiery red bougainvillea blossoms that frame the pillars in our driveway. My father had planted the saplings and tended to the plants all his life. He said the blossoms, when I was away, reminded him of me – of my fiery nature and my indomitable spirit.

Now as I see the leaves of our beloved bougainvillea yellowing, curling and dropping on the unforgiving concrete like the sheared locks of the hair of a maiden well past her prime, I too feel defeated. The bougainvillea needs pruning. As does my life. By refusing to prune my life, I have let it become a stifling forest in which no new green leaves are allowed to grow.

I have returned after two years for closure. It should come as little surprise that a generation of people brought up with instant coffee, 4G internet and one night stands would search for quick relief from something our parents called grief, but was I not delaying my own journey to recovery by staying away from these walls?

My thoughts are interrupted by my two year old, Adam. He comes running to me. His cherubic cheeks are flushed and he is breathless.

‘Mommy, mommy, look, I found a squirrel.’

‘Mommy will be right there, my love,’ I assure him.

I let him drag me to the chestnut tree in our garden to show me this squirrel that has caught his fancy. It scampers away as we approach it.

‘Aw, Mommy. You scared him,’ he admonishes me.

As I begin to explain myself, Adam takes my hand again and says, ‘Come it’s time to feed the fishies.’

And together we walk, hand in hand, to the koi pond. As we sit on the edge, Adam seems more captivated by his own reflection in the pond’s uneven surface than by the colourful fish that we were going to feed.

‘Mommy, you promised me a picnic,’ he suddenly exclaims.

I had totally forgotten. I must put together a picnic basket first thing tomorrow. I assure him that we can have a picnic tomorrow afternoon.

He returns his gaze to the surface of the pond, seems to think about it for a moment and then frowns at me.

‘But Adam likes playing in the evening, Mommy.’

’Sweetheart, but picnics are meant to be had in the afternoon. You love spending your afternoons in the garden.’

‘Silly mommy,’ he replies looking at me like I have missed something obvious and then steals a furtive glance at the pond. ‘Not me. The other Adam. He only likes playing in the evening. Won’t he be joining us?’

I continue to stare at my two year old. Adam doesn’t know that I gave birth to his stillborn identical twin two years ago.

And what we did with his body.

Typical dinner with family friends. The men talk about politics and the women prepare dinner.

But this time there is somebody my age to talk to, a 17-year-old girl named Maya who wants to become a doctor, something that worries her parents.

“My parents don’t want me to catch a virus. So many doctors are dying from the pandemic.” She says.

“By the time you become a doctor the pandemic will be over.”

“What if there’s another one? Every two years there’s a new one.”

“Let’s go outside. It’s getting noisy in here.” I suggest.

We go to my backyard and sit near the bushes.

Just then I see my neighbours through their bedroom window. They’re arguing again.

“I wonder what they’re fighting about.” Maya asks.

“The wife wants a divorce and wants her jewelry back.” I reply. “She had given it to him because he said it would be safe at the bank. But now he’s claiming that she never gave her jewelry to him.”

“How do you know?”

“My mom told me.”

“Look! He hit her.” Maya says.

I quickly look up at the bedroom window but only see the man, not the woman.

“She fell.” She says. “First he hit her and then he pushed her.”

Maya immediately pulls out her phone and calls 911.

“The cops will be here any minute.” She says. “But that might be too late.”

“What else can we do?” I ask.

“We have to get in there. She could be dead by the time the cops reach.” She says. “Help me over the fence.”

The fence separating my backyard from my neighbour’s is not too tall, and I can help her over, but what if she doesn’t land properly? She could get hurt. I keep these thoughts to myself though, Maya seems determined.

I crouch near the fence and she steps on my back and pulls herself over the fence. I take several steps back, and run towards the fence and manage to hop over. But I end up hurting my elbow. Damn it, I can hardly move it now.

Meanwhile Maya finds a rock in the neighbour’s backyard and throws it at the neighbour’s window, shattering the glass. The home alarm system starts blaring, and moments later a deranged man rushes out.

“What the fuck?” The man growls — The same man who pounced on his wife upstairs.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He demands.

I’m closer to him so he immediately comes to me and smacks me in the face. I lose my balance and hit the ground hard.

Next he chases after Maya. She tries to run away but he jumps on her and pins her to the ground. He starts choking her.

She’s struggling to remove his hands. He’s too strong.

He’s choking her and I know I need to get up and help but I can’t… I’m in too much pain.

Pretty soon we hear police sirens along with the home alarm system that is still blaring.

Maya loosens the man’s hands for a second and screams, “HELP!”

But then he starts choking her again. Maya stops moving.

The police quickly reach the backyard and they yank the man of Maya and subdue him.

Maya saved the neighbour lady’s life. The abusive husband was in the middle of beating her to death but got distracted by the home alarm. He broke her leg and she will have to be in a wheelchair for a while, but she’ll live.

Unfortunately, he ended up choking Maya to death

The unconscious man is tied to a chair.

This man, Nishant, has been having an affair with my wife Sonali.

I’m trying to figure out what she sees in him. Nishant is certainly good looking, but that can’t be the only reason. A lot of guys chased Sonali in college, including me, and many of those guys were far better looking than me. But she let me catch her — Maybe because I’m rich.

“Where am I?” Nishant asks groggily.

Looks like he’s finally awake. I stop pacing around and sit in front of him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.

“Who are you?” He asks.

“The husband of the woman you’re sleeping with.”

“What? No.” He replies, disoriented.

I show Nishant a video on my phone. It’s a video of my wife giving him a blowjob in the upstairs bedroom.

“Oh no.” Nishant says.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” I smile. “This would do very well on Pornhub.”

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened. Where am I?” He asks.

“You’ve fucked my wife in my home so many times, yet you’ve never seen the basement? How long has this been going on?”

“10 months.” He says.

“Sonali’s birthday was 10 months ago.”

“Our first time was on her birthday.”

I nod, “Makes sense. Sonali was angry that I couldn’t be with her on her birthday… Tell me what she saw in you.”

I take a gun out of my jacket.

“Okay, okay. Just relax. We met at Runners Park. We started jogging together and things just clicked. One night she told me that she’s grateful that I’m always there for her. Then she kissed me. That’s how it started.”

“So I was never there for her? Is that it?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe I took her for granted.”

“Where is she?” He asks.

“Both of you have put me in an awkward position.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“I understand why Sonali did what she did. But I can’t stay married to her.”

“Really?”

“But if I divorce her I lose half my net worth, maybe even my house. I should’ve made her sign a damn pre-nup.”

“She doesn’t need your money.” He replies.

“She just needs your cock right?”

He doesn’t respond.

“She may not have married me for money, but she’ll certainly loot me in the divorce.” I say.

“You know she was right, you are an asshole.” Nishant says.

“Yeah but at least I didn’t cheat on her.” I reply.

I point the gun at Nishant’s face and fire.

His brains are all over the floor.

I’m annoyed at the blood on my clothes. I should’ve stood farther away from him when firing. But then I wouldn’t have been able to see the fear on his face. Life is all about balance, no?

I go to my bedroom upstairs, take a shower and put on some fresh clothes. Then I get into my car and drive away.

My PI will take care of the rest.

A few months later I’m reading the paper in my living room. I’m reading about a murder that took place in my very own house.

The article states that Sonali is headed to the electric chair for the murder of Nishant.

Sonali was willing to divorce her husband to be with Nishant but he wanted to end the affair. The refusal angered Sonali so much that she shot Nishant. Damn shame.

Part 1

My cook is trying to poison me. Lately I’ve been getting sicker after consuming any meal prepared by him. He’s been cooking for my family for generations and I’m the last surviving member of that family. Why does he want me dead? His salary has gone up every year even though he’s cooked less every year due to the demise of one family member after another.

Today he’s made spaghetti. He sets the plate down in front of me and smiles.

I smile back and offer him the first bite.

“I’ll have my dinner later.” He replies politely.

“There’s enough for both of us.”

“That’s very kind of you but I’m not hungry.”

He leaves the dining room. I roll up some spaghetti in my fork and stare at it. I always roll up the exact same amount of spaghetti for each bite. I’ve gotten good at it. So why does this particular roll of spaghetti feel heavier than usual? Has the poison made it heavier? Should I take a bite?

Part 2

I ate the spaghetti last night. And I felt sick. I ate oatmeal this morning. And I felt sicker. My cook, who made the oatmeal, ate the same oatmeal with me, for I was insistent that he join me. But he seems fine. Absolutely healthy. Then why am I getting sicker by the meal? How are his movements so fluid and carefree while mine are lagging and sluggish? There’s only one answer. He has swallowed the antidote. He’s immune to the poison.

But where has he hidden the antidote? I’ve searched the whole house. But my cook knows my house better than me. I used to play hide and seek with him when I was a kid. He always found me, every single time, but I never found him once. There’s also the possibility that he finished all the antidote.

The point is that my cook has left me no choice but to resort to drastic measures. I’ve been a vegetarian my whole life but that’s about to change. If the antidote is inside him, I must eat him to cure myself. I enter his bedroom in the middle of the night. He’s asleep. I approach him with a knife and fork.

Part 3

The doorbell wakes me up. I push the newspaper off me and slowly get off the sofa. My entire body is aching.
I answer the bell and it’s the little girl from next door.

“Hi! Do you have any cookies?” She asks.

“Unfortunately no. My cook isn’t here.”

“He went on vacation, didn’t he?” She says. “He promised he’d bake some cookies for me before he left.”

“Did he? I can’t remember.”

“You never remember anything!” She frowns.

I go back inside after promising the girl I’ll give her a hundred cookies next week.

I think my cook mentioned something about taking a short vacation this week. But I can’t remember. And my stomach hurts more than ever, especially after my last meal. I don’t even remember what I ate.

I go into my cook’s bedroom. I check the closet and the wardrobe. None of his belongings are here. It doesn’t seem like he’s gone on vacation, it seems like he’s completely moved out. Where did he go?

Part 4

“What’s that you have there?” The little girl’s father asks.

“Our neighbor baked me some cookies!” The little girl puts the box on the dining table.

“What?” The father looks worried. “Why him?”

“Because his cook didn’t do it before going on vacation.” She replies.

The little girl picks up a cookie and takes a bite. She immediately spits it out and proceeds to vomit.

Final Part

“I told you we should’ve moved a long time ago. But you said having a strange neighbor is no reason to move!” Says the little girl’s mother.

“I thought he was just strange. I didn’t know he was capable of this.” Replies the little girl’s father.

The little girl’s parents are watching the news on TV. Reporters are talking about a man who murdered his cook and used the body parts to bake cookies which he then gave to the little girl. The man claims that he is innocent and has no memory of committing such heinous crimes.